Staring at Rachel
by mywordshurt
Summary: I was staring at her, and she looked at me, and I didn't even notice. Faberry.


**Staring at Rachel**

**Chapter 1**

Even though I was in Glee club and said I enjoy Glee club, I most definitely do not enjoy Glee club. Say what you want, but all this singing and dancing around is really exhausting and when it comes down to it, Mr. Schue really doesn't teach anything important. Plus Rachel's almost always talking. She wasn't right now, but still.

Look at her sitting there; big brown eyes focusing upon every word Schue was saying. Was she actually paying attention? Probably, but _why_? Was she remotely interested by this drivel or was she trying to find a slip up that she could call Schue out on. I wouldn't put it past her. No, I wouldn't.

And it doesn't matter how big that smile is, how much it shines in the light or how full of mirth her eyes are. It doesn't change the fact she's nearly cutthroat. Harmless, pfft, just cause she bounces around at something like five feet and has lock brown locks that sway and move with her body doesn't offer her immunity. Someday I'll cut off all that hair. Ha, no one would mistake her for harmless after that. Her nose would look huge too; not that it doesn't already, but it's more proportional with the lengthy hair all around her head.

And look at those tiny little hands folded together on her lap. Each nail meticulously manicured. And her legs, as if she could show any more of them with a more hideous skirt. Why am I even looking? Ugly skirt, ugly sweater. The sweater shouldn't even exist, it's like it was made in 1980 or something, that's how poofy and ugly it is. As if she couldn't look flatter than she already was. Tiny little breasts hiding away inside, and then she'll just show them off to the whole world when she gets her chances. What a tramp.

Quinn?

Got lost in my thoughts for a moment.

"Quinn?" Rachel was staring right at me.

"What do you want, Berry?" I said with some malice.

She said, "You've been staring at me for a while," her hands fidgeted on her lap. Everyone else was busy working on their Glee club assignment, which of course Rachel made me miss.

I said, "No I haven't."

She giggled: she _giggled_. Was I losing my touch? Did I sound too shaky? I frowned deeply at her and waited for her response, which was, of course, more giggles.

"What's so funny?" I said, assuring myself this time that I would sound firm and in control. It didn't help much. She stopped laughing but kept smiling at me. She got up and sat down next to me; I scooted away, eyeing her up and down. Show off all of your legs, but not an inch of your torso. Makes sense. I crossed my arms and cocked my eyebrow, hoping she understand I meant business.

Her breathing was steady, a smooth rhythm flowed through her body. Those big brown eyes focusing upon me: studying me. My face grew hot, and I clenched my fists.

"Wanna be my partner for this week's assignment?"

And as if she was magic, my face softened and any attempt I had at trying to be mean to her melted away; I almost felt like crying. Or sleeping. I was tired, that's why I couldn't be mean. Sure, fine, at least I'll get a good grade and not have to do any work.

"What's the assignment?" I said, and she giggled in response, hopelessly amused that I hadn't been paying any attention to what had been going on before she had interrupted my silent monologue in my head. How rude of her; I should tell her off right now, how dare she interrupt my head monologue!

"and that's about it."

I grew flustered and she tried not to laugh at what my face looked like right now. Damnit.

I said, "Can you repeat that?"

She, being the 'sweet, kind, and helpful' type, was willing to oblige. In a monologue that matched my own, she went on describing the ironic quality of pop music and how it's lyrics and message and literary points often contrasted the music's upbeat and uncannily peppy rhythms, melodies, and tempo. What our job to do was to find pop songs that perfectly fit those ideas and qualities, and then present them to the class. And that's about it.

Nodding slowly, before fully digesting what I had been just told, I ran a hand over my hair, eventually tightening my pony tail.

"I'll be over at seven." I said to her, collecting my thighs and standing.

She physically stuttered and grasped my hand; her skin was soft, smooth, gentle, it was light, her movements peppery, she wasn't forceful. The palm of her hand flush against my arm was almost heavenly. I needed to breathe, I _needed _to breathe. In and then out. I turned down to her, eyeing her hand around mine. Slowly they peeled away until she had let me go. She seemed nervous and frightened, as if the girl from before was completely gone and in her place was a puppy. I missed her excited yelps.

"I don't know what you want from me."

"Don't leave?"

I looked away, trying to find something to lock onto without moving my head. I nodded. "Fine." Fine. I'll just have to exert some control. Besides, seven pm still was on the schedule.

* * *

_I do not own Glee._


End file.
